Page 95 of Never Have I Ever

“Ever after,” I whisper to myself, feeling every bit of the bliss that ending gives a fairy tale.

With a towel wrapped around him, he digs through the bag he dropped at the entry to my bedroom, and slips on his boxer briefs. Disappearing, he’s quick to return with our glasses of water. He hands me mine but doesn’t climb into bed again, choosing to sit on the edge instead. “Do you want to keep your furniture?” He takes a drink and sets the glass down on the nightstand.

I gave up caring about watermarks years ago. “I’m not married to it.”

He opens the drawer because he’s still so curious. It’s endearing and entertaining that he wants to learn about me so much. “If it would make you feel more at home, then we can bring it. My place is—” Suddenly silent, his attention is caught by the contents of the drawer, and he bends to get a better look.

“Your place is what?” And then I remember what’s in there. Oh crap. I dive to slam the drawer shut.

“Damn, you’re going to snap my fingers off.”

Ooh, that would have been a tragedy. “Sorry. There’s stuff in there that innocent eyes shouldn’t see.”

He starts chuckling, but then his grin falters, and he cocks a brow at me. “Am I going to hell?”

I laugh this time. “We’ve already been there and back.” At least I amuse him, hopefully distracting him enough to forget that he ever saw my guilty pleasure. Though even battery power couldn’t get me over that orgasmic line in forever. Laird gets all the credit, owning every single one I have.

“Should I be worried?”

I wave him off as I flop back on the bed. “No, no. I prefer you to the battery boyfriend any day.”

Blinking slowly, he narrows his eyes back on me. “I, um . . . I wasn’t referring to that.”

“Oh?” I ask, feeling clueless as to what he is referring to while also realizing I just exposed myself for having a toy. Guilty as charged.

He opens the drawer again and pulls out a piece of paper. “I was referring to this. The ‘I love you’ note you’re storing with your boyfriend in there.” He doesn’t have to explain which note. It’s the only one that’s ever mattered. It’s the one I would save in a fire. It’s a key to my past and a letter from someone who loves me. I know every word and crease, bent corner, and size of that letter by heart.

My heart pulses in my throat. The last thing I want to do is upset the man who just asked me to move in with him. “Pfft.” I try to snatch it away, but he raises it above my head. “It’s ancient history, Laird.” I didn’t want him to see it, but I’m not willing to risk ripping it by grabbing it and ending up in a tug-of-war. He’s already seen it, so it’s out in the open now anyway.

Turning it over in his hands, he asks, “How ancient?” Out of all my belongings, I didn’t expect that would hold such piqued interest. Sure, I thought he might be jealous, but that’s not what I’m detecting in his tone.

Honesty is best. “It’s one of the few clues I have from that weekend in Austin.”

He hands it back to me with care. His eyes now on mine, but the lightness I sensed is gone. “What’s it a clue to?”

“My memories.” I reclaim the note, grateful it didn’t get damaged. This love letter is one of the few things that survived the accident. A pervasive tone has overcome the teasing, but the corners of his eyes soften, and I detect the slightest of smiles at the corners of his lips. “I probably shouldn’t be so attached, but I can’t help myself. It’s a clue to someone who loves me, loved me,” I add, “to the past I can’t remember.”

“You don’t remember who gave it to you?” He taps it with his free hand as if he can’t get enough of it either. Of all the things . . . “It must be someone who loves you very much.”

That encourages a broader smile from me. He’s such a romantic at heart. “No. I don’t remember who gave it to me, but I remember feeling the same as the message on it.”

“You were in love?”

“If it’s practical to think love can be embodied in physical things other than people and animals? This letter contains the emotion poured into the message.” I can’t lie. He’s had loss, so he understands mine. “Yes, very much.”

Looking back at the letter, it feels strange to hold a piece of my missing world in my hands. I’m so used to seeing it on the mirror, but touching it makes it more real somehow, as if I’d forgotten all over again.

But I don’t want to hurt Laird by toying with him or make him resentful by pinning him against my past. I return it to the drawer and close it. He’s more important than a piece of paper.

When I kiss his cheek, his mind has seemingly gone elsewhere. “Hey, I love you.”

“I know. I’m not competing with a piece of paper, but I know you have memories trapped in that beautiful brain of yours, and in your heart. I want to help you.”

“You’re helping me every day. You’re helping discover that life can be beautiful after something so tragic. You gave me hope, Laird. You gave me love. I still don’t even know why or how it happened so fast. It just did, and I’m here for it.” I smile, feeling so much better knowing he’s okay.

Capturing me before I lie back down, he asks, “What memories have you had so far?”

“Not a lot but more than two handfuls.” I lie down, ticking through them, needing to hear them out loud in hopes of breathing life into them again.

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